Because That's What Friends Do?
by BasementOfTheMansion
Summary: Post-Moroccan Christmas. Oscar doesn’t know what makes him call Andy that night. But he calls anyway.


**Title:** Because... That's What Friends Do?  
**Rating:** Innocous as a Disney movie and twice as heart-warming  
**Disclaimer:** Let me just say... If I owned The Office, it would air on Showtime. It doesn't. Ipso facto, I don't.  
**A/N:** After touting these two as my second OTP for weeks, I figured it was time to write some fic with them. Since that whole thing with Andy's proformance broke my heart into many little pieces of... heart-meat, I needed to have something not-depressing come out of that experience.

* * *

Oscar doesn't know what makes him call Andy that night. Okay, that's a lie, he does. But... This should not be him. This should be someone caring. Someone who partakes in the ludicrous soap opera that is the office.

Only... No one else is going to call. Because it's Andy, and they've all known or suspected all along and never said a thing, because... well, it's supposed to work itself out somehow. Not splatter embarrassingly all over the main room of the office in front of everyone and everything, accompanied by a lovingly clueless serenade and carefully filmed for progeny by a full documentary crew.

Like it did.

And nobody except him seemed to care. Jim and Pam laughed about it in the break room to the cameras. Phyllis was the one who'd shoved the whole mess out into the open. Kelly talked Toby's ear off about it, but she was just a gossip and he could barely even do the basic aspects of his job. Nobody else seemed conscious of it five minutes after Andy and Angela had walked out.

So it was just him.

Which was kind of a shocker. Since when did he care about anything that went on in that place? He'd watched just about everyone else crash and burn and make fools of themselves and get pregnant and arrested and skip off to the beach and he'd never said a work on way or another, saving the occasional sarcastic observation that no one else seemed to understand.

But a couple of Long Island iced teas on foreign soil and now he's suddenly invested in this whole situation is a way he couldn't even explain if he tried.

He doesn't even know why he has Andy's number in his cell. It's just another thing to blame on Canada. But he'd never deleted it, and that probably says something.

Andy picks up on the third ring, and part of Oscar is glad because whatever he's doing can't be done over voicemail, and the rest of him is mortified because _god he's really doing this_.

"Hey, Andy," he says quickly as quickly as he can into the phone, like he's ripping off a bandage.

"Oscar! 'Sup, mi amigo?" Andy replied brightly.

"I'm just calling to..." What? Tell you that you're the last to know that your fiancée's cheating on you? "Um. How's Angela?"

"A trifle queasy, I'm sorry to say. Foreign food. Y'know."

"...Yeah."

"It's okay. I got her some antacid and she's turning in early. She'll be just peachy in the morning."

Huh. Oscar finds himself hoping she has heartburn for weeks.

"Oh," is all he can think to say.

"But, hey, thanks for calling."

"Sure," What, monosyllabic responses are all he can manage now? "...How are things with you two?"

"Thiiiings are excellent," he says chipperly, and because it's over the phone, Oscar just can't judge if Andy suspects or is still a happy resident of the state of denial.

"Really?" he asks before he can stop himself.

"Yeah," Andy replies with a faint note of doubt, like when he thinks people are talking behind his back. "I mean, we're about to get married. And she let me get to actual second base."

First of all... There was no way Oscar ever needed that image in his head, EVER. And second...

Andy was never going to marry Angela. And he was the only one who didn't know that.

"Just... curious."

"I know it seems like Angie's not that into me, but she is. She's just a tough nut to crack."

"Yeah. She is."

Silence reigns for a long moment, gently cracking in his ear.

"Hey, you doin' anything for New Year's Eve?" Andy asks out of the blue, voice deliberately upbeat.

Oscar's defer-all-human-contact instincts scream _Say Yes!_ He pauses. "I don't know. Not really."

"'Cause milady is so not into that scene. I was thinking maybe hittin' a bar or two, grabbing some brewskis. Y'know, night out."

The invitation hangs there like that one too-heavy antique ornament that bends the whole pine bough nearly double.

"...Maybe I'll come along," Oscar manages after a few seconds of internal debate.

"Score," Andy says, and Oscar's embarrassed on the other man's behalf by all the relief in that one word. "Hey, hit me back sometime and we will discuss the itinerary for our rockin' New Year's Eve, 'k?"

"Alright." Oscar breathes in deep, not really wanting to say what he knows he's going to say next. "Hey, Andy?"

"At your service."

"Your sitar thing... It was pretty good. Sorry no one clapped."

"Yeah, what was up with that?"

Oh, God. "I think everyone was... a little shocked about... everything."

"Oh, Meredith's intervention?"

Something in his stomach twists. "Yeah, that."

"Oh."

"Well, I'll talk to you later."

"Ciao!" Andy beams into the phone. "See ya around!'

Oscar waits to hear the dial tone before he flips his phone closed. Then he sighs.

* * *

A/N II: Will there be a sequel? I want to say no, because I have two major WIPs going on. But, depending on how much attention this garners... There is a possibility of actually writing them hanging out on New Year's. Since I get less reviews than Andy gets requests for his jammin' sitar, I'm thinking this is either a safe bet to keep me less stressed, or a blatent bribe. I guess that's up to you to decide.


End file.
